


Jackpot

by quaffanddoff



Series: Give_Satisfaction [16]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Class Differences, Gold Digger, M/M, POV Jeeves, Pre-decimalisation currency, Sex Toys, Sugar Daddy, this reads like a Wodehouse-themed Mastercard commercial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaffanddoff/pseuds/quaffanddoff
Summary: Jeeves has struck gold.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Series: Give_Satisfaction [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561192
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	Jackpot

_The philosophy book he bought me for my birthday: 4 shillings_

_The poetry collection he bought me for Christmas and inscribed with a thoughtful message: 5 shillings, 6 pence_

_The bowler hat he bought me for extricating him from an exceptionally difficult situation: £1 and 5 shillings_

_The leather gloves he bought me for no readily apparent reason: £2_

Looking back, I blush to recall the thought I had when I first met Mr. Wooster: ‘Jackpot.’

I saw his wealth and I thought: exorbitance. I saw his generosity and I thought: waste. To me, his was a world of outrageous over-indulgence. It shames me to have to report that I immediately resolved to take full advantage.

_My ticket to accompany him to a show in the West End that I had greatly desired to see (and which he slept through): £3_

_The bow tie I picked out for myself when we went to the tailor’s and he encouraged me to select whatever I liked: £2_

_The twenty-four karat gold cufflinks that I accepted only after he firmly and repeatedly insisted: £20_

Even now, it makes me feel shallow, greedy, and superficial to think of the way I covet these material objects which are so ostentatiously gaudy.

_Several bottles of fine champagne he bought for us to drink on New Year’s Eve: £10_

_The diamond pocket watch he bought me simply because 'it just occurred to me you might like it, old thing': £40_

But the reality is, I adore them not due to their price, not due to their literal worth. I value them because of what they symbolize to me.

_My transportation, lodging, food, entertainment, souvenirs, and so on when I accompanied him on vacation in France: £30_

_Enough petrol for an extended scenic drive along the coast: £1 and 10 shillings_

_The beach house he rented (due to a booking error caused by the language barrier, it was a one-bedroom): £10_

_A jar to hold the most unique and beautiful shells we collected while strolling along the sand each night: 1 ha'penny_

I’ve worked all my life for a servant’s wage. At the start of my career, at the girls' school and at the country estate, it was exceedingly meager. Nevertheless, because the staff personify the prosperity of the estate, we were nevertheless expected to project an image of plentitude at all times. 

_Average yearly wage for a page-boy when that was my post: £5_

However, oftentimes, it is nothing more than an illusion we are forced to maintain. Many times during the course of my life, I struggled, as did those close to me. We suffered and we went without. 

_Average yearly wage for a footman when that was my post: £10_

But now, those days are over.

_Average yearly wage for a valet when that was my post: £100_

_The yearly wage I receive from Mr. Wooster: £200_

_Various tips, bonuses, and thank-yous from him and his friends for my extra help in settling their personal matters: ~£200_

I never dreamed I could someday attain such financial security. This kind of stability isn’t merely symbolic of luxury and excess; it means I never have to worry about anything again. Not _really_ worry. Not _ever_ again.

_The stunning suit he had made for me in a chic Parisian market: £15_

_The bookshelves he insisted on buying me to hold all the books he had insisted on buying me: £5 and 14 shillings_

I suppose there is only one thing that I do still have to worry about: my health and that of my loved ones. Those are universal fears that all the wealth in the world cannot hope to assuage.

_Tickets for the world cruise I finally convinced him to take after years of ‘subtle’ hints: £50_

_The well-fitted swimsuit he wore on that trip: 15 shillings, 6 pence_

_The sunblock he asked me to rub onto his skin as we laid together on the ship's deck, basking in the sun: 3 pence_

That fear is precisely the kind of thing I try not to dwell on overmuch. Of course, I am powerless to control it. We all are. That lack of control is why—fine, I’ll admit it—sometimes, late at night, deep in solitary contemplation, I become suffused with anxiety. Dread fills me as I think about what would happen, what would become of me, if it all went away. If he went away.

_Personal grooming routines I used to pay for out of my own wages that he now began paying for, such as my clothing, haircuts, manicures, and so on: £10_

For he is the reason I can finally exhale for the first time in my life. He sees me as a natural phenomenon, a miracle of creation. That is why he doesn’t understand that, without him, my abilities mean nothing. My skills are worthless without a beneficiary. With no wage, there is no work, there is no survival. He tells his friends that he depends on me, but it is really the other way around.

_The yearly wage I have been offered by some of his more disloyal friends: £300 - £500 and even higher_

I am happy that he is too short-sighted, too self-effacing, and most of all, too admiring of me, to see the truth.

_Shampoo: 10 pence_

_Smelling him on my pillow even when he’s not there: £0_

If ever I were to lose him, I would be losing more than just my money, more than my precious stability. I would lose my purpose, my drive. I would be utterly deprived.

_An intriguing-looking 'marital aid' purchased from a seedy shop in a disreputable section of London: £1 and 10 shillings_

_Hearing him cry out my name in ecstasy, over and over: £0_

I have always considered myself a fiercely independent creature. Yet, as hard as it is for me to admit this, I have come to need him. Even harder to admit: I rely on him for much more than his money. Yes, money and food and shelter keep me alive. But he himself is the reason _why_ I live.

_A pair of matching diamond rings that we can never wear: £500_

_His lips on mine: £0_

He makes life worth living. All this would be pointless, futile, altogether in vain, if it weren’t for him. All that I’ve done, I do it for him. All that I am, I am for him.

_Silk bedsheets: £2_

_Waking up encased in softness and pulling him tighter into my arms: £0_

**Author's Note:**

> A guide to old-timey British money for those (like me) who need it: http://projectbritain.com/moneyold.htm


End file.
